Widow and I haven’t spoken about what I said by the fire last night. I know I need to apologize to her, but I don’t need the entire pirate crew listening in as I grovel. Besides, I think her kicking my ass over and over was pretty good payback for me telling her she’s not real.
A bright blue frog is singing its heart out on the porch railing as I approach, its neon pink eyes nearly glowing in the gloom. I find myself wondering what the island would look like in the sun. As bright as it is at night, it must be beyond beautiful in the day.
Nessie rocks in her chair, her silver hair swept up in a high bun as she works on some embroidery. “I put some new things in your closet, my dear. Pants that actually fit you, a few tops, and I even made you a dress should you feel fancy.”
“You made clothes? Like with your hands?”
She nods. “James was kind enough to bring all the fabrics I asked for and more. An embarrassment of riches.” She grabs a large pair of golden scissors and cuts the thread she’s working on.
A chill goes through me, like someone just walked across my grave.
Nessie seems to notice and stows her scissors in her pocket. “Sometimes the thread is over.” She pats the front of her embroidery hoop with her fingers. “But others go on.” She flips it over and shows me a wealth of colored thread hanging through the fabric. “Such is the way of it.” She turns it over again, showing me an embroidered image of the golden tree at the center of the island. “Such is the way of all threads. They have to end.”
“We’re just talking about thread, right?”
She smiles and goes back to stitching. “Of course. What else could we be talking about? Tell me if you’d like anything else. I love making clothes.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I’m beginning to suspect Nessie is a lot more than a housekeeper.
I walk in the back door, the house cool and dim compared to outside. Thunder rumbles in the distance, though it could be the ocean crashing on the far side of the cliffs. Up in this hideaway, it’s hard to know for certain.
I pass through the kitchen, then into the hallway that runs to the staircase. My steps slow when I hear Smee and Hook talking in Hook’s office. I haven’t gone in there. The doors are always closed when I pass by, and the absolutely enormous crocodile skeleton mounted over the door doesn’t look too welcoming.
This time, though, I pause and listen.
“—plenty of time to chart our course.” Smee sounds whiny. Good. I want him unhappy.
“We set sail in two nights. Tell the crew.” Hook’s tone brooks no argument, but Smee isn’t much for subtext, because he says, “We’ve been at sea for months, Captain. The crew needs more of a break.”
“Once this is done, they’ll have as long a break as they like. But I can’t rest until she’s taken care of.”
“Why?” Smee’s exasperation rankles.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“She seems stable, Captain. She’s even been out there sparring—horribly, might I add—with Widow. An ineffectual fighter, at best.”
What a dick! I’mhighlyeffectual.
“She’s fading. What that goddamn parasite did to her has left marks.” His anger telegraphs through the wall. “There’s only one way, one place, where she can become whole again. As soon as we’ve all had a rest, that’s where we’re headed.”
Smee sighs dramatically. “I don’t understand what hold this mainland girl has over you.”
“You don’t need to understand, Smee. I’m your captain. If you’ve lost your faith in me—”
“No!” Smee practically barks the word. “Never, Captain. I … worry. That’s all.”
“Don’t. Once we handle this, the rest of it will fall into place. We’ll be rid of that bilge rat for good.”
“From your lips to Calypso’s ears.” Smee shifts, and I creep farther down the hall, but linger.
“Tiger Lily arrives tomorrow. Is everything ready?” Hook asks.
I must’ve misheard, so I tiptoe back to the door.
“She and her warriors arrive before the moon is high. The menu is ready, and everything will go smoothly. This time will be different.”
Hook chuckles low in his throat. “You mean this time won’t end in bloodshed? Don’t bet on it.”
